


Foxhole

by Entropyrose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dirty Talk, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Years after Hydra's downfall, Bucky is still struggling with finding his place in amongst his new friends at the Avengers Tower as well as re-establishing his relationship with Steve. After getting roped into joining in on a Veteran's support group outing, Bucky meets an old(ish) acquaintance who helps him sort out his feelings for Steve, as well as blow of some, uh, ....steam.Or, Bucky Barnes and Frank Castle have rough, wild, mind-blowing sex.





	Foxhole

**Author's Note:**

> Granted, this is a crack pairing, but now more than ever I am convinces that Wintercastle is a *thing*. It's here to stay so buckle up babies, things are about to get a little sticky ;)

Bucky has Sam to blame for this. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing in the small group gathered down by the lake in the middle of October, bundled up in a suede brown jacket and wearing trail boots. He recognizes about half the group that’s gathered here: mostly from the few times Sam has actually been able to talk him into going to these types of meetings. But some are new faces--he meets eyes with a burly, gray-bearded man and since it’s too late to look away, he forces a tight-lipped smile and gives him a sharp nod, and gets about the same in return. 

“Bucky,” Sam greets him with that signature sparkling smile, pulling him in for a one-armed hug and a pat on the back as if he hadn’t just seen him hours before, perched beside the coffee maker on Tony’s marble counter where he first proposed the idea. “Glad you made it, man.”

Bucky’s smile warms a little as Sam tosses him a fishing pole. 

It’s a little late in the season for salmon, but he ends up catching a few rock bass and one panhead that wandered a little too close to shore. Nothing big enough to keep, not that he would anyway. It’s enjoyment enough to feel the crisp autumn breeze nipping at his cheeks and watch the red leaves fall into the water to dance on the ripples. The random conversations as the group mills about form lulling static that calms his nerves, and for just a moment---with a leather glove and the long coat covering his metal arm--he can forget everything and just be...sort of normal. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe it is good to “break away”. 

He’s not sure why Steve’s not here, joining among all their fellow veterans. Probably had “superhero” business to tend to. He’d have a hell of alot more to contribute than Bucky would. By now, Steve would have made his rounds at least twice, being certain to shake everyone’s hand--introduce himself formally if he hadn’t met them before, ask them how they were doing if he had. No doubt he would have taken a spot right between Bucky and Sam, being sure to share himself equally with his two best friends. 

Bucky’s happy to be by himself. He’s always bombed at small-talk unless it was to get a girl’s number. It’s enough to watch the others having a good time-talking about kids, spouses and jobs and teasing each other about the size of their catches. 

“Any luck, Soldier?”

The name is enough to jolt him out of his thoughts, but the voice seems almost familiar, like one he’s heard before, maybe one or two times. He turns towards the sound as a man stalks towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of a black trench-coat that does a poor job concealing the Ruger at his side. Bucky grins a bit even as he searches his flawed memory for the appropriate name and lands on one just in time for the man to stop beside him. “A little. How you been, Castle?”

He’s not used to seeing Frank in the daylight. He’s clean-shaven, with a fresh military-style cut, hair cropped close on the sides, thick brown curls growing out on top. His face is clean, too, except for a cloudy purple circle shadowing his right eye. He shrugs. “Not too shabby. These sorts a’ things aren’t my bag, but Sam said he could use the help--”

“--contributing to the rest of the guys,” Bucky finishes with a sharp nod. “Yeah, yeah I know. That’s how he got me roped into this, too.”

Frank chuckles and Bucky turns back as he feels a bite on the line. With a few steady tugs the fish flops to the shore. It’s a trout, not too big--11 inches, Bucky guesses, and before he can grab his knife to cut the thing free, Frank is on one knee, flattening the fins to the body of the fish with a sturdy, calloused hand and digging the hook out with bare fingers. He holds it up for Bucky to inspect as it flops around, wide-eyed and angry. “Whatdya’ think, Soldier? Does it look like dinner?”

“Nah,” Bucky murmurs. It wasn’t so long ago that he felt very much like that fish probably feels--caught on the end of a line and thrashing with all his might to be set free. “Let her grow a bit.”

Frank nods, dipping his hand into the frigid harbor and the fish flies off with an indignant flip of its tail, flinging the water right in Frank’s face and making them both chuckle.

“Guess she told you.”

Deep brown pools stare into Bucky’s. Something in Frank’s unflinching gaze sets butterflies loose in Bucky’s stomach and he turns away sharply, praying that if Frank catches a hint of pink on his cheeks he’ll chalk it up to the frigid fall wind. 

Every “veteran’s outing” has a meeting, and this time it’s in a small park area with a swingset and a few picnic tables. Bucky and Frank aren’t like some of the vigilantes. They don’t have masks or helmets to hide their faces, but if anyone recognizes who they are, they don’t seem to mind their presence. Sam’s one of the “good guys”. His motives aren’t questionable, his actions not over-violent. Bucky wonders what it would be like to live like that, out in the open, without the necessity for masks or the dark of night. 

He picks a spot towards the back. He’s heard all Sam’s “lessons”, and they’re not for him. They’re for someone whose military time is done, the people who are re-entering civilian life. It’s little surprise when Frank sits down beside him on the picnic table. After a few quiet moments of listening to the beginning of the story, he feels Frank’s thigh bump his hip and looks up into cocoa-brown eyes that sparkle with secret mischief. “Wanna get out of here?”

Bucky gives him a slight nod and moments later they are scampering off like two high schoolers skipping class. Sam’s brow furls as he glances Bucky’s way, but he can make out a small grin creeping across the edges of his mouth, even as he shakes his head. Bucky is sure he is still grateful either of them made the effort in the first place. Deciding that he’s going to make it up to Sam later with some microwave popcorn and a Netflix movie, he makes his way out across the parking lot and slips into the passenger side of the only vehicle there that looks like it’s been across a few minefields and back again. 

Frank chuckles as he follows suit and the van roars to life. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“I haven’t known you for long, Frank,” Bucky offers, putting one leg over the other on the dusty dashboard. “But you’re definitely not the subtle type.”

* * * * *  
It’s a small corner bar, only busy enough to produce adequate background noise but free of the rowdy college types. Bucky sheds his coat and hesitates when he gets to the gloves, glancing down at his left hand. He flexes it a bit, wondering if it’d be weirder to leave it on or take it off. The glint of metal catches in nearly any light, and he’s already been out in public long enough to warrant some uncomfortable glances his way. That’d be one conversation he could without. 

“Hey.” Frank’s voice is soft, reassuring, as he gives Bucky’s elbow a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to hide shit.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him and Frank offers a small grin. 

“C’mon, man. The Punisher and the Winter Fuckin’ Soldier? Who’d be stupid enough?”

There’s a playfulness in Frank’s voice that’s unexpected, coming from someone Steve’s called a “cold-blooded mass-murderer”. It soothes the tactical instinct inside him that’s been screaming out warning signals about keeping it on. He tugs the glove off, stuffing into an empty jacket pocket without a second thought before returning Frank’s smile. “Yeah. Guess you’re right about that.”

Frank loses the trenchcoat but not before stashing the gun in his boot, a move that Bucky catches easily but that a random passerby would probably see as him stooping down to adjust his shoe. 

“So, what brings you to this side of town?” 

Frank shrugs as they make their way to a corner booth--the furthest from any exit, a circular table where they can both place their backs to the wall and monitor the comings and goings of traffic at any time--”Business,” Frank says, a bit too quickly. Bucky nods. 

“Anything I can help with?” 

Frank lets out a raspy chuckle as the waitress draws near. “You think your Captain wouldn’t mind?” Without a word, she puts down a coffee cup, filling to the brim before turning to Bucky and asking for his order. It’s not like he can get drunk, and he’s always preferred the taste of gin over ice. Frank, apparently, doesn’t have that same ability. The way the man wrinkles his nose before taking the first sip implies he’s not too fond of coffee, either--probably drinks it for the effects,. The dark circle under the eye that’s not black suggests he doesn’t get a shit ton of sleep. The caffeine is part of his survival.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I take it they know you here.”

“Like I said,” Frank offers, taking a deeper swallow this time, “Nobody’s gonna bother you here.”

The evening passes faster than Bucky even has time to think, with he and Frank taking turns sharing stories and before Bucky even knows it, he’s relaxed and laughing softly, his flesh arm pressed against Frank’s as he leans over to steal yet another atomic-hot chicken wing. 

“Didn’t think you were the crying type,” Frank chides, sweeping away a tear that’s escaped and rolled down Bucky’s flushed cheek. He’s not drunk by any means, but the alcohol still offers that same comfort, reminding Bucky of years gone by. 

“Huh, yeah you shoulda seen me when I recognized Steve for the first time.” It’s hard for Bucky to imagine that it’s been nearly four years since that fateful day over the Potomac. 

“How is Blondie anyways?”

Bucky nibbles the last bits off the bone, eyeing Frank with faux-scepticism. “You have nicknames for everybody?” 

Frank shrugs. “Pretty much.”

Bucky finishes off his current drink, swirling the ice cubes around the bottom and watching them clink together. “He’s good. I think. I don’t know. Alot has changed.”

Frank’s expression becomes guarded. “That don’t mean shit. You’re best buds.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Castle at this point. “Yeah we are.” Bucky swallows down the lump that rises in his throat. He doesn’t know why he says what he says next. Maybe it’s the gin, or the velvety hum of Frank’s voice or the fact that it’s the only thing he’s been able to think about for the past four years. “It’d be nice to be more, though.”

Bucky swears for just a moment he hears Frank’s heart stop. “More? Like…?” He adjusts in his seat, the creak of leather-on-leather nearly drowning out all other sound. “Bucky, are you...in love with him?” 

Bucky snorts under his breath, unable to hide the bitter laugh that comes next. He stares deeper into the glass, watching the two melted ice cubes at the bottom of it as they slowly become one. “Yeah. Pretty stupid, right?” 

“What--no. No, not at all. In fact...” Frank’s voice takes on that playful lilt again, as he tilts his head, nearly forcing Bucky’s eyes and his to meet. “...I think that’s incredibly hot.” 

“H-hot?” Bucky can’t stop a surprised giggle from eeking out. (Just think--the Winter Soldier, giggling? Fuck is he glad none of the team is here…) 

“Yeah. Just think about it, Captain Kickass and the world’s foremost Super-soldier assassin?!” 

Bucky’s too busy shaking his head to think too deeply into the visuals. Of course, it’s never a subject he’d actually consider bringing up to Steve. The reasoning just isn’t there. Surely, Steve is straighter than the stripes on the American flag, and Bucky’d never live down the embarrassment of coming out to his best and oldest friend. “Stupid,” he murmurs, his voice a mixture of bitterness and regret, the tears now welling in his eyes a result of something that stings a hell of a lot more than hot sauce.

“Yeah,” Frank rasps, and his eyes, too, are suddenly drowning in his half-empty coffee cup. “Just about as stupid as admitting your love to the guy that’s been hunting you down for the better part of the last two years.”

Bucky’s eyes flutter, the realization hitting him like a steel slug. “...really?”

Frank cracks a hard smile, lifting his head to the dim bar light, illuminating the beginning crows-feet that frame his face. His deep cocoa eyes glittering with all the resilience and toughness of a war-hardened soldier. 

“Have you ever…” 

“Told him? Nah. Not yet. I’d consider it if he’d stop banging chicks for five seconds, though.”

Bucky lets out a slight chuckle at that, and swallows the ice cubes that have become gin-flavored water. A surge of boldness grips him suddenly, a sliver of his old self breaking through the battle-worn wall. “Well know what I think?”

Frank raises an eyebrow. 

“I think,” Bucky continues, plucking the last chicken wing and ripping off one piece, (handing the rest to Frank for effect), “They’re missing out.” 

“Yeah,” Frank murmurs out the side of his mouth, his tone sly. 

“I think we’re two incredibly attractive, talented, young guys--” 

“Oh, absolutely.” 

“--with a lot to give a prospective mate. We’re sensitive,--”

“Mmmh, sometimes.” 

“--caring--”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“--and I mean, come on.” Bucky rucks up the bottom of his gray henley, offering Frank a peek at his stomach. “Who could say no to these muscles?”

Frank shrugs, playing along. “Well, certainly not me.”

“I know, right!” Bucky concludes his speech by raising his glass, digging deep down and finding a part of himself he thought long dead, and shouting “Hey! Can us incredibly good-looking, available guys get a little service here?!!”

The outburst does the trick and soon they are both making absolute spectacles of themselves, slapping each other’s backs and dissolving into schoolgirlish giggles while the waitress disdainfully refills their respective beverages. When the laughter fades and the waitress has retreated to the busier section of the bar, they find themselves lost in each other’s eyes. Frank swallows hard. 

Bucky feels the blood rush to his face as he pauses expectantly. 

“Yeah” Frank breathes. 

* * * * * 

The hotel key tumbles out of Bucky’s hand before he can reach the dresser, being pulled in by powerful, calloused hands that grab and grope everywhere simultaneously. He’s flattened against the wall with a resounding THUD that sends a shockwave through his system and it’s a struggle just to stay upright, grappling for control of Frank’s heavy jacket. 

“Soldier….fuck…” Frank rasps. He mashes their mouths together like he’s a drowning man and Bucky’s his only source of air. He grabs ahold of Bucky’s knee, throwing his legs wide and landing his hips between them, crushing their trapped, aching cocks together beneath the fabric separating them. 

Bucky moans into each syllable, his wide, plush tongue lashing out to find Frank’s before capturing his bottom lip. It earns him a guttural groan that unfurls a tendril of sheer gratification from deep inside him. Bucky’s hair must provide an ideal handhold, because Frank mercilessly grabs fistfuls, his nails digging in deep and setting Bucky’s scalp aflame. 

Frank is all over him now, rutting between Bucky’s legs, moving him further up the wall with each sharp thrust, making it very clear that Bucky’s only going to go where Frank puts him. This realization frustrates and excites him simultaneously and Bucky bites down a bit harder, not enough to draw blood but just enough to let Frank know he’s not entirely happy with the arrangement. 

Frank pulls his head back to gaze at Bucky through heavy-lidded eyes as he continues his attack, (there is little doubt that they are making more-than-adequate noise through the paper-thin walls) a wicked grin on his face. “What’s the matter baby? Thought you’d like it rough.”

“I’m not used to giving up control so easily,” Bucky bites back, grazing Frank’s earlobe with his teeth. He twists his metal fingers into the copious brown curls atop Frank’s head, furthering his point. “I could break you, you know. You’re all soft. Flesh and bone.” 

“Yeah, I gotta bone for you,” Frank growls, delivering a particularly brutal shove right into Bucky’s center, one that he feels straight through his dick. 

It earns him a wail, one that Frank tries to stifle the last half of with a firm, wet kiss. “Shh, shh, baby, oh fuck, you feel so fucking good...nnggh…”

Bucky wiggles his flesh hand down Frank’s center, threading the end of his thick belt through the loop and giving it a solid yank. Frank’s nostrils flare, panting through his clenched teeth as Bucky tugs and yanks his fly open. He works Frank’s jeans down off his hips by wrapping his legs around and climbing further up, releasing Frank’s impressive length with one final shove. 

“Damn, sweetheart, you eager?” Frank chuckles against his ear, his breath smelling of coffee and hot sauce, which on him is a surprisingly sexy combination. 

“You gonna shut up and fuck me or what?” Bucky gruffs back. 

“Oh, sir yes sir,” Frank chimes. Before Bucky knows what’s happening, he is being thrown on the bed like a ragdoll, his legs landing somewhere over his head, his arms splayed out to either side. Frank is somewhere above him in the dim lighting, the trench-coat long gone and now working on his tight black tee shirt. His dog tags chime as he strips it off with one hand, tossing it somewhere in the distance before joining Bucky on the bed, crawling over him like a puma claiming its kill. 

Bucky allows himself to reach up and touch the hardened globes that make up Frank’s pectorals, gasping a little as they quiver beneath his touch. He pulls back, murmuring “sorry”, self-consciously folding his metal hand inward. “It’s cold. I know.”

“Don’t stop,” Frank whispers, his voice losing some of its urgency but keeping the gruffness. He retrieves Bucky’s hand, flattening them once again to his chest. Frank groans and begins a rhythm, this time more experimental and sensual. 

His naked cock still too far into the shadows for Bucky to see, but Christ, can he feel it. The swollen, warm shaft rolling between his legs, finding his jean-clad asscheeks and filling the space between them. Bucky’s going home with dirty pants and right now he couldn’t give a damn less. 

Bucky pets the plane of Frank’s stomach, the cold from his metal fingers resulting in goosebumps that freckle the surface wherever he touches. Frank throws his head back and Bucky’s having a hard time ever remembering a prettier sight. His adam’s apple bobbing, both biceps firing as he rolls his hips into Bucky’s warmth. 

“Now you show me yours,” Frank rasps, the fingers of both hands splaying wide and skirting under Bucky’s shirt without waiting. Bucky complies, eagerly shaking off the ribbed fabric and tossing it in the direction of Frank’s discarded clothes. 

It’s been so long. Too long. And Bucky’s only been with guys a few times, mostly on drunken nights with other soldiers on leave. Never like this. Sober and hard and fast and rough and wonderful, like they need each other’s body heat to survive. Frank’s calloused hands make their way worshipfully across his nipples, (thanks to the lack of heat in the room they are already standing at attention), massaging each areola, thumbnails dipping into the ducts of the hardening buds as he pinches on the sides, repeating the process over and over again until Bucky’s dick starts to slide around in its own fluids in his underwear, still trapped and raw and so ready that Bucky can’t catch his breath. 

“Uuuhhhhh…” Lewd sounds start falling out of his mouth faster than he is able to catch them, the sensation of Frank’s nude, bobbing dick running in between his asscheeks becoming too much to bear. Desperate, he arches into the touch, squirming pathetically on the bed and calling out to Frank with all the dignity of a sloppy whore. 

Frank’s mouth dips down into plane of his chest, and Bucky watches his own breathing stop as he gathers a nipple into that plush mouth and sucks. 

He bites back a whimper, his head lolling to the side as that ultra-sensitive part of him is wetted with a lapping tongue and bitten by merciless teeth, the desperation in Frank’s suckling sending loud, wet sounds into the chilly air. He nurses like he’s going to get something out of it, and fuck if Bucky’s body doesn’t respond in kind, his dick twitching against a particularly hard ridge in the lining of his fly as it sputters out more and more fluid, thoroughly soaking himself. “Frank….oh God….fuck....”

“What you want, Soldier?” 

The name should bother him. It’s the sole name he’s gone by for the better part of a century and it’s never been for a good reason. But coming from Frank, it’s sensual and sweet and endearing, something that Bucky was positive that name could never be for him. He tries to gasp, his lungs burning for air as suddenly he realizes he has stopped breathing. When Frank releases Bucky’s sore tit from the wet cavern of his mouth, Bucky is able to get in one sharp breath before Frank attacks the other one, switching sides to pinch and pull at the glossy nub, rubbed raw by his expert touch. 

“Mhh---Frank---p-please…” Bucky’s not above begging. Not for this man. He’s already shared more of himself with Frank than he’s ever shared with anyone, dead or living, and he wants to experiment with how it sounds and feels. It might not do much of anything to spur Frank on, but it definitely turns the intensity up, resulting in Frank letting out a frustrated groan and losing his rhythm as he kicks off his pants. Bucky hears the deep “thud” as his tactical boots hit the floor. 

“What do you want?,” he repeats, flattening himself against Bucky, pressing down overtop of him like he’s going to crush the very life out of him until he gets the answer he seeks. His breath batters warm and heavy against the ellipse of Bucky’s ear. 

“Please---” 

The request is cut off by a hand at his throat, not squeezing so much as holding him down against the bed, a wide palm sweeping against his adam’s apple. “You want my cock in you, Soldier?” 

“Mmmhh-hmm,” Bucky whimpers. 

“You want me to fuck you? That it?”

Bucky does his best to nod, reaching his hands down to the waistband of his jeans to begin wriggling his way out of them. 

“You want me to bend you over this bed and bury my cock into that tight cunt of yours?” 

Bucky’s pleas have been reduced to inaudible, breathy murmurs as his cock finally breaks free of its bindings, finding the waiting warmth of Frank’s devastatingly huge manhood. As if to answer him, Bucky surges upward on his elbows, nudging his hips into Frank’s hips, his precome-covered dick against Frank’s. “Y--yeah.”

Frank lets out a shudder that ripples throughout his entire top half, back muscles rippling, his head with its generous chocolate-coated curls falling to Bucky’s chest. The dog tags jingle, the cool metal hitting the center of Bucky’s chest and the shockwave of the touch making his nipples painfully pronounced. “Okay, baby. I’m going to fuck you. I’m gonna stick my dick deep up into your guts, got that?”

“Y-yes, sir.” 

Those must have been the words Frank was looking for, because he surges forward with a possessive growl, looping both thumbs into Bucky’s pants and yanking downward. Bucky is barely able to recover before he is on his stomach, his anxious dick bobbing between his legs, and for just a moment he feels mortified for the poor housekeepers that are going to have to come in and clean because this is getting damn-right messy. 

Nerves get the better of Bucky, the butterflies resume their fluttering as Frank orders him to his knees. Almost as if he can sense his anxiety, Frank’s hand is on Bucky’s back, petting him in soothing, tender strokes and waiting for Bucky to let out a relaxed sigh. Bucky’s never seen anything as big as Frank’s, and if that’s going to go inside of him, he’s going to need more than a little spit to do the job. 

“Sh, shh, Baby. I’m gonna make this feel good for you. I promise.” 

The wide, smooth hand dips down between his ass cheeks, past the clenched ring of muscle and around each testicle before wrapping around Bucky’s entire length with an experimental tug. Bucky gasps, his mouth dropping stupidly open, dripping cock twitching beneath the masterful touch. He bites down on his lip while Frank starts a rhythm, much like the rhythm he used against the wall. Hard and fast and unforgiving. “Mmmnh….F-Frank…wait…”

“No, I don’t think so,” Frank chimes playfully, his free hand fluttering along Bucky’s side, reaching a nipple and tugging. Bucky jumps and Frank chuckles. “I know, you like that don’t you? Does Cap know you’re such a whore?”

Of course, the answer is yes. Bucky is certain Steve recalls the many times of having to pull Bucky out of movie theatres for making out with girls or catching him in the back of Mr. Anderson’s Bentley with Sally Anderson at two in the morning. But those days are so far behind him, the question makes him blush. He shakes his head to clear the embarrassing thought away but Frank takes it as an answer because he speeds up, the fingers of fist ribbing along Bucky’s length. “Oh god, yeah. That’s it. Show me what you got, Sergeant.”

It’s not long before the excitement gets the better of him and the all-familiar heat swells in his belly, pushing through his extremities and sending fire rushing through his veins. Bucky arches his back, willing himself to forget how embarrassing this position is, how vulnerable he is right now, how hard Frank is going after his poor, raw nipple… 

He chokes out a sob he’s unable to stop as his climax washes over him, his dick twitching and warping as Frank pumps out every last drop, milking him with a commanding thumb, pressing inward from base to frenulum as his cock spurts and sputters out the thick white stuff. 

“Good boy,” Frank cooes. Somewhere in the midst of stroking Bucky off, he’d cupped his free hand, collecting Bucky’s slick. “Fuck, look at all that. Been too long, huh?”

Bucky chuckles despite the heavy red color he knows is settling along his cheeks. “Seventy-two years too long.”

“And to think,” Frank muses as he puts the warm fluid to work, dripping some into the crevice of Bucky’s ass, coating his entrance like cake icing, “Some people think Cap himself is still a virgin.” 

It’s possible. Not a thought that Bucky would deny wondering sometimes. Steve was always so shy, some would say too small to get a date. Bucky might have had his pick, but he did his best to send the “good girls” Steve’s way. But that was then. “Enough talk,” Bucky growls, swaying his ass. “You gonna fuck me or stand around talking about it?”

The smart-ass comment earns him a stiff finger at his hole, opening him up and ignoring the stubborn clenching ring of muscle to wiggle inside. Bucky’s head snaps up and he stifles a groan as Frank digs in deeper. “So you gonna be cute? That it?” 

Frank takes adequate time opening him up, working two fingers in and out until Bucky relaxes to the sensation, even rocking back on his knees into it. It feels so good, a different kind of good, not the hot urgency they began with. Bucky can already feel himself twitching with anticipation, hardening again as Frank lines their hips up and the head of his meaty cock presses against Bucky’s entrance. 

“Oh, god, Frank….mmmnngh…..yes…”

Frank’s eyes roll back as he surges forward with one experimental thrust, lodging himself in just far enough to open him up, and Bucky’s dick hungrily arches upwards. “Christ, Baby….Holy shii……” Frank’s voice slams down into his chest as he propels forward, the pressure and heat plunging headlong into Bucky’s warmth. 

Frank’s dog tags jingle along to Frank’s rhythm like a mating call, and Bucky finds it inexplicably hot. He’s being pile-driven straight down into the mattress, his hole gaping wide in a struggle to accept Frank’s complete girth. It’s not long before he’s hitting something spongy and bulbous deep within him, the head of his cock becoming a ram-rod as Frank relentlessly bares down on the spot. 

Bucky can only whimper and cry out helplessly, his metal hand having shredded the sheet beneath him in search of purchase. He is sure that he must look wet and used and fucked-out, but at this point, neither of them care because they are one, Frank so deep and so big that Bucky feels him in his belly. 

“F-frank….oh….I think...I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah, yes, baby. Oh god. Come while I fuck you.” Frank’s hand returns around Bucky’s poor cock, his long fingers wrapping around his girth and milking out every last drop. 

Bucky closes his eyes, letting the inevitable conclusion wash over him once again, this time complete and and powerful, like somebody has set off sparklers inside him. He cums to the point where he’s afraid it might be urine, but when the fireworks have calmed and he regains his senses, he glances between his legs at the white puddle as it drools out of his dick.

Frank soon follows, jack-hammering Bucky’s insides and then suddenly arching upward, his back rigid, one shallow gasp the only warning before Bucky is pumped full. Frank shudders, fingers locked onto Bucky’s hips as he rides out the aftershocks, slumping forward to pepper kisses along his shoulders.

They both fall together on the bed, one of Bucky’s arms lazily crossing Frank’s chest. He nuzzles Frank’s sweat-slicked skin, breathing in his heady scent. Without a word, he listens to the sound of his heartbeat as it slows to a steady thrum, letting it lull him to sleep. 

* * * * *

Steve drops his shield down into an empty chair as he makes his way over to the counter. He quirks an eyebrow at Bucky as he raises a mug to his lips. “Black coffee today?” 

“Yep,” Bucky chirps as he struts off into the living room. Steve seems unable to peel his gaze off him. Something seems different. Not “off” just…. 

“Nice shirt,” he mutters. 

“This?” Bucky glances down at the skin-tight black tee that shows off his assets nicely, including the metal arm, which up until now Steve’d gotten used to him trying to conceal. He glances up at Steve, a genuine grin on his face. And that’s well, something Steve hasn’t seen in… “I’m borrowing from a friend.”

Steve pauses for a moment before curiosity gets the better of him and he ends up trotting to catch up with him. “Friend? Wait...what kind of friend…?”


End file.
